Hunger
by hummerhouse
Summary: When it all goes to Hell, even the most lighthearted souls are affected. Written for the DarkOctober challenge. Accompanying image created by the amazingly talented h0w-d0-y0u-d0-fell0w-kids. TMNT 2k3 SAINW. One shot. 1st Place in the TMNT Universal Reader's Choice Awards 2018: (Mature Ballot) Most Spot on Portrayal of Raphael; Most Disturbing Horror.


Hunger

One of the first things that the Shredder did was to take control of the food supply.

Leonardo said it was a tactic straight out of Sun Tzu. "A wise general makes a point of foraging on the enemy. Thus the army will have food enough for its needs."

Many young, able bodied humans joined the Foot clan as food became scarcer. His new army lacked for nothing, thus he engendered loyalty. Of a sort.

The old and infirm died off quickly. Those who weren't killed outright simply succumbed to lack of care, loss of medications, and a shortage of nourishment. Long trenches were gouged into what had once been Central Park, and the dead were dumped into them. The showcase of New York City was now a vast graveyard.

Shredder's rise to power did not begin in a vacuum. The turtles and their friends were quite aware of the first moves that the Shredder made in taking over the city. Unlike in the past though, they were unable to foil his plans because Donatello had gone missing.

Finding Donatello held the entire focus of the small mutant family. At first, they believed that Shredder had taken him. Perhaps Shredder's reign of terror would have ended before it could begin if that had been so.

Many a high ranking Foot soldier had fallen to the turtles during their quest to find their brother. They had even broken Hun, forcing him to reveal the location of one of Shredder's most valuable laboratories. From those scientists they had learned that Donatello was not among Shredder's captives.

The only good thing to come of that part of the search was that Hun had fallen out of favor with the Shredder. When Hun vanished, no one questioned it or even cared.

Thus had begun a long and tortuous time period for the mutant family. They searched everywhere for Donatello, barely sleeping, ignoring everything as they tried to find a son and brother.

Though he had not arranged it, the disappearance of Donatello proved quite fortuitous for the Shredder. It was not only that the turtle genius had the technical know-how to thwart most of the Shredder's activities, it was that the mutants were the only ones truly aware of just how evil Ch'rell was.

Without the interference of his arch enemies, Shredder's plans went forward at an astounding pace. The mayor, who was already in his pocket, soon declared a strict curfew, thus locking down the freedoms of the citizenry. New York City, as arguably the financial center of the world, was a strategic location in Shredder's takeover bid.

This strict enforcement over the free movement of people and finances began to spread, infecting first the state and then the country, which was soon under martial law. Little by little, other countries fell to Shredder's rule. His followers took over key positions in governments throughout the world.

Uprisings and civil unrest were dealt with swiftly and with deadly force. Schools continued to operate and attendance became mandatory, but the curriculum was far different. Shredder's schools demanded obedience. They taught children that loyalty was rewarded and disobedience unacceptable. The schools encouraged children to report anyone who did not follow Shredder's doctrine, even their own family members.

Still, large pockets of resistance continued to exist and thrive, bringing in millions of people who were dissatisfied with Shredder's rule.

Then food became scarce.

By the time the turtles became fully aware of the Shredder's machinations, he already had a firm grip on much of the world's population. Realizing that they were the only thing standing between Shredder and complete world domination, the turtles began to plan an assault.

Without Donatello, their chances for success were greatly limited. Both Leatherhead and April O'Neil stepped in to lend technical support, but they could not give the turtles the one thing they needed most, their heart.

The turtles and their father barely escaped with their lives. Leatherhead was not so lucky.

April, along with Casey Jones, soon formed a resistance movement aimed at building an army to fight against the Shredder. The Rebels were carefully vetted, and with the turtles' guidance, April led the Resistance on a number of successful campaigns.

It was soon clear that the Resistance could not focus solely on defeating Shredder. As Leonardo had so aptly pointed out, an army marches on its stomach. Food became the number one necessity.

Michelangelo complained about the lack of it most strenuously. He had always loved his food; he was the one most prone to snacking. His metabolism ran hot and fast, so an absence of sustenance was more keenly felt by him than the others.

Ever since Donatello's disappearance, Raphael's temper had grown worse, his patience paper thin. Whenever Michelangelo began to lament the fact that their cupboards were bare, Raphael would snap.

It took enormous effort on Leonardo's part to stop the pair from fighting, which usually meant that Raphael would turn on him. Splinter tried to keep his sons together, but he had fallen into despair at the loss of Donatello and tended to remain locked in his own room most of the time.

With their family in disarray and their security systems in disrepair, the turtles weren't nearly as vigilant as they had been in the past. Because of this, the Shredder found them.

Far below the city, in the sewers, a battle raged. The mutants fought hard against their enemies, but they were vastly outnumbered. They had but one chance for survival and that was to escape. Unfortunately, it seemed that their every path was blocked.

It was then that Master Splinter had come up with a plan. Under heavy fire, he had ordered his sons to run, telling them he knew exactly what to do so that they could all get away.

Trusting in him, the turtles had moved, expecting that their father would be right there with them. They hadn't realized until it was too late that when he'd said 'they could all get away' he had meant only his sons.

As soon as Raphael saw that Master Splinter was sacrificing himself for them, he'd tried to turn back. Propelled by his emotions, Raphael didn't understand that going back meant certain death for him as well. Leonardo understood, and determined that Splinter's sacrifice would not be meaningless, he had been forced to knock his brother out and carry him to safety.

At that point their family fell apart. Constantly on the run, Raphael could not forgive Leonardo, blaming him for the loss of their father. They fought almost non-stop, and Michelangelo told them he couldn't tell who they hated more, the Shredder or each other.

Despite the efforts that Michelangelo, April, and Casey made to hold the three brothers together, Raphael was inconsolable and Leonardo too withdrawn. The two of them went their own ways.

Leonardo became a loner, avoiding Raphael completely, and only occasionally visiting April and Michelangelo. It was the youngest brother who helped bury their father after Leonardo went back for his body.

Raphael bunked with Casey, the two of them waging their own war against the Shredder. It was during one extremely violent skirmish that Casey lost his life and Raphael was blinded in one eye.

Slowly, over time, Michelangelo's spark began to fade, making him more jaded. Then he lost his arm to his own brother, who had been forced to remove it in order to save Michelangelo's life.

Wracked with guilt, hysterical blindness took Leonardo's eyesight and he began to wear dark glasses. Loss of blood and lack of food left Michelangelo on the very precipice of death. It was Raphael who returned to try and save his youngest brother's life. His anger at Leonardo doubled; it did not matter that Michelangelo would have died if the arm hadn't been cut off, all that mattered was that it was Leonardo who had done the cutting.

Raphael scrounged every bit of food that he could find, keeping little for himself and giving the rest to Michelangelo. It never seemed enough; Michelangelo burned with fever and in his delirium, he cried out for more to eat.

It went on that way for weeks. Raphael was sure that he was going to lose his little brother; his best friend. They had always been close and even though Raphael swore that Michelangelo got on his last nerve, he was also Raphael's closest confidant.

They'd had to move several times in order to avoid Shredder's search parties. It had been tough going, with Michelangelo nearly incapacitated, they were unable to proceed very quickly. Once or twice they'd very nearly been caught, but then the Shredder's forces had been mysteriously cut down by someone who struck from the shadows.

He never showed himself to his brothers, yet it was clear that Leonardo continued to watch over them. But Raphael was still angry, still wanted nothing to do with his older brother. Even as Michelangelo lay near death, Raphael ranted that Leonardo best keep his distance.

Returning one evening from a supply run, Raphael was startled to discover one of Shredder's elite Foot Gestapo lying dead near the entrance to the home he and Michelangelo had taken refuge in. A trail of blood ran along the front stoop and into foyer of the house.

Dropping everything, Raphael dashed inside, going directly to the room where he had left his brother. Immediate relief set in when he saw that not only was Michelangelo unharmed, he was sitting up in his makeshift bed and looking almost like his old self again.

"Are ya' okay, Mikey?" Raphael asked. "There's a dead Foot goon by the front door."

"I heard them coming," Michelangelo said. "I'm the one who made him dead."

"'Them?' What happened to the others? I saw a trail of blood leading into the house," Raphael said.

"It wasn't leading in, it was going out," Michelangelo said. "I hurt the other one pretty bad but I guess he got away."

"Well then we'd better move our asses," Raphael said, urging Michelangelo to stand. "I found some dried fruit and a few cans of beans. We'll grab them on the way out. Ya' can eat while we're looking for another place to stay."

"Nah, I can wait," Michelangelo said. "I'm not really hungry right now. In fact, I'm feeling pretty good."

Raphael didn't have time to think about that, his only concern was getting away before the Foot Gestapo returned full force. For some reason Michelangelo didn't seem at all troubled, but Raphael finally got him moving.

The pair didn't stop until they were miles away from the other house. An old cemetery offered them refuge, the inside of a mausoleum becoming their new base of operations and recovery.

Settling in for the night, Raphael opened the cans and offered one to Michelangelo, who turned it down.

"Still not hungry bro'. You eat it. You've been giving me almost all of the food lately and I know you're starving," Michelangelo said.

Raphael frowned. "Are ya' sure you're feeling okay? All you've done for weeks is bitch that ya' ain't had enough to eat."

"That's 'cause my body needed the extra fuel to heal," Michelangelo said. Lifting what remained of his left arm, he added, "All healed up. I could use some shut eye though. Enjoy your dinner."

It wasn't long after Michelangelo's recovery that the brother's split up again. Raphael hated to leave Michelangelo since he was down to one arm, but he had seen his brother in action and the younger turtle wasn't the least hobbled. In fact, he was much more vicious than he'd ever been, taking no chances with opposing forces and giving no quarter once he got his hands on Foot soldiers.

Raphael found it a touch worrisome that Michelangelo was not only willing to kill, but that he seemed to have developed a certain joy in doing so. It had been a long time since Raphael had seen Michelangelo exhibit such enthusiasm about anything. His idealistic baby brother was completely gone, replaced by an efficient and energetic killing force.

Another concern of Raphael's was that whenever Michelangelo did visit a Rebel base to consult with April and the Resistance, he would not accept the offer of a meal. He took nothing that was offered by Raphael either, telling his brother that he could and was scrounging for himself.

Whenever Raphael chanced upon the aftermath of one of Michelangelo's encounters with the Foot, he found numerous dead bodies, many of them having the appearance of being ripped to pieces. He also found clothing tossed around haphazardly, all blood soaked and none of it belonging to those who were deceased.

It was the unnecessary gore that made Raphael begin to question Michelangelo's sanity. Fighting against the Foot was one thing; winning the small battles kept the Resistance alive. However, Michelangelo seemed to be taking pleasure from creating carnage. If he continued on his current path, showing such an absence of restraint, he was sure to get himself killed.

Raphael had grown so concerned about Michelangelo that there was even a moment when he'd considered seeking out Leonardo's guidance. The idea quickly faded when he remembered the night they'd lost their father and how Leonardo had betrayed his trust.

Finally determined to confront Michelangelo about his savagery, Raphael went in search of his little brother. From experience, he knew that the best way to locate Michelangelo was to first track down one of the frequent Foot patrols. Raphael knew that if the Foot were in the vicinity, then Michelangelo would not be far behind.

The screams were Raphael's first hint that something was terribly wrong.

They had learned early on that survival meant silence, even when killing was necessary. Raphael knew Michelangelo's voice, knew from horrible experience what his screams sounded like, and these did not belong to his little brother.

Racing towards the sounds, Raphael drew his sai, prepared to leap into battle. His first encounter was with a single Foot soldier, bloodied and wide eyed as he ran from something that had him terrified. He had no gun, but instinctively reached for his knife when he saw Raphael coming towards him. The large turtle barely slowed down as he gutted the man and tossed his body aside.

Farther along Raphael began to stumble upon bodies. Numerous bodies. Some shot, others stabbed, all of them showing signs of having been brutalized far beyond what a battle would have necessitated.

The screams continued. They would fade, and then fresh screams would follow. Raphael chased the sounds, growing more panicked with each step he took. He was both afraid to stop and afraid to keep going. Reflexes were all that maintained his forward momentum.

When he finally came upon the source of the screams, Raphael slid to a stop, his arms dropping to his sides. Mutilated corpses were piled everywhere, and several feet in front of him was Michelangelo, squatting over a still struggling man.

One final screech ripped through the air and then the man went limp.

"Mikey?" Raphael whispered, his blood running cold.

Michelangelo turned at the sound of his name. His body and face were caked in blood and entrails. In his hand he held the dead man's heart.

Then Michelangelo grinned at his brother. His teeth were sharpened points, caked skin stuck between them. At some point Michelangelo had filed them down and Raphael hadn't even noticed.

Without a word of explanation, Michelangelo took a bite from the heart.

Raphael's legs gave out and he fell to his knees. "Why?" he moaned.

"I was hungry," Michelangelo said, his voice bubbling up through a mouthful of blood. "I have to kill them, so why waste the meat? Two birds with one stone."

"When?" Raphael had to know. Had it begun that night when he'd returned to the house to find only a single Foot soldier and an almost fully recovered Michelangelo?

"I've been so hungry," Michelangelo said, his eyes glinting in an almost feral way.

"I did my best to feed you after you were hurt," Raphael responded, his voice taking on a pleading tone.

"Had to do for myself too," Michelangelo said. "Right after it happened. When you were gone. Hungry. Waste not, want not."

He turned back to the corpse. At the first crunch of his teeth digging into flesh, Raphael leaped to his feet and ran back the way he'd come.

Running for what seemed an eternity, Raphael tried to put the sound and image of Michelangelo cannibalizing his kills from his mind. He couldn't manage it though, something kept digging at his subconscious.

Without consciously meaning to, Raphael found that he'd returned to the place where Michelangelo had lost his arm. The stone wall that had fallen and trapped Michelangelo was still there, but someone had managed to break off a large chunk.

And Michelangelo's arm was gone.

Raphael's world began to spin and he sat down heavily. Numbness stole feeling from his extremities as the enormity of what he'd discovered paralyzed him.

His sweet, goofball, optimistic baby brother had always been devoted to his food. That one thing about Michelangelo hadn't changed. In a world where food was a limited resource, Michelangelo still loved to eat.

Even if it meant eating himself.

End


End file.
